Brothers On A Hotel Bed
by Willie2186
Summary: Takes place after 9x11. Trying to get Dean to admit his feelings is like pulling teeth. Fortunately Cas has got plenty of patience...maybe. Chapter 3 FINALLY up!
1. Motels

This story will be a multi-chapter Destiel fic. Takes place after episode 9 x 11. Dean and Cas bond in a motel room, and enjoy a little wing fluff (pun intended, sorrynotsorry).

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Story title comes from a Deathcab for Cutie song.

Note: It's been years since I've posted any fiction to this site, so here it goes...

This story has been a work in progress for literally two years. Recently, after a fit of frustration, I wound up taking it apart and practically starting over. I was having a hell of a time keeping Cas in character (he's not easy to write, I've found). Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. Though I'm still not 100% satisfied, especially after reading so many amazing Destiel fics (I feel mine pales in comparison), I've been dying to get this uploaded and I think it's finally just about right. I'm super nervous, but I really hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Dean hated motels, really fucking hated them; at least the ones he and Sam always chose. The rooms were small and dingy, decorated with out-dated furnishings and Dean wouldn't dare bring in a black light for fear of what he might find. The one he was staying in right now was particularly awful: it was small, smelled of mildew and the entire room, bathroom included, had wallpaper that was patterned with vegetables. The hardest part was that he was just starting to get used to having a place to call home, a room and a comfy bed that were _his_, where the sheets weren't covered with the bodily fluids of strangers. And now here he was, back to shitty motels; it was fucking depressing.

Dean was alone in this shithole with nothing but a couple of cheap beers and Jack Daniels to keep him company. Crowley was off somewhere being a dick-bag and Sam was back at the bunker, with Cas, still not speaking to Dean. Not that Dean could blame him; he knows he fucked up royally. He once again defied the "natural order" and took matters into his own hands. He made choices that weren't his to make. As much as it pained him, Dean knew he didn't deserve his brother's forgiveness.

It was really hard not seeing Cas, though. Granted, Cas had been gone before, like when he was stuck in Heaven trying to mediate a civil war, and when Dean thought he was dead (on more than one occasion). But it was different knowing that the angel was out there, with his brother, and Dean _couldn't_ see him. The weird thing was, that on top of everything else, he was actually feeling a little jealous of Sam.

Dean was laying on his bed, one arm tucked behind his head, and trying to watch the crappy little TV that looked like it was new back in 1986. There were only two working channels, the Home Shopping Network and one that played old black and white movies Dean had never heard of. He was shirtless - wearing only a pair of tattered basketball shorts – and sweating; it was hot as hell in the motel room despite being the middle of January. The heat was stuck on "deep-fry," and try as he might he couldn't turn the damn thing down. He had opened the one working window, but the winter air seemed to be no match for the sweltering motel room. Downing the rest of his beer, he crumpled up the can and rolled off the bed. He shuffled over to the ancient refrigerator and yanked open the door, staring at a couple Chinese take-out containers from the day before, and some milk that had been there when he had checked into the room. He lingered in front of the open fridge, basking in the barely cooled air (shocker, the fucking fridge was on the fritz, too). Finding nothing of interest inside, Dean headed back over to the bed, shoving his hand down his shorts for a quick scratch and adjustment.

"Whiskey it is, then..." he grumbled, grabbing the half-empty bottle from the nightstand.

He took a swig, feeling the warmth wash down into his stomach. It was too fucking hot in the room and he really wanted a cold beer, but he had just finished the last one and the stupid town he was in didn't have a liquor store or bar open this late during the week, so he had to settle for the cheap whiskey he'd found in the back seat of the Impala. On the plus side, he had a pretty good buzz going; thoughts of Sam and Abaddon and Gadreel were finally starting to fade.

It was about 1:30 in the morning. He knew he should have been getting some rest but Dean didn't sleep much these days. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in ages. Each night he'd wake up in a panic, sweat covering his body, with images of Kevin's burnt eye sockets in his head. He had taken up the Dean Winchester method of self-medicating with large amounts of alcohol, usually drinking until he passed out, followed by popping a few uppers to get him going in the mornings. His self-worth had hit an all-time low. Cas would disagree, he knew. Dean thought back to his conversation with Cas, after he had told him all about letting Ezekiel/Gadreel possess his brother. He tried to focus on Cas' kind words and understanding smile, but all it did was make him feel even worse.

At the thought of Cas, Dean touched the now-vacant spot on his left shoulder. The print had faded some time ago, but the memory of it remained. Though he'd never admit it, Dean actually missed the handprint. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly down (and was alone, of course), he'd roll up his shirtsleeve and just stare at it. It had been a reminder that someone actually gave a damn about him, that someone cared enough to haul his ass out of Hell. He knew Sam still cared about him, but since things weren't so great between the brothers right now it was nice knowing there was someone else who had his back.

Of course, now he had a new mark to deal with and this one didn't have such a pleasant association behind it. The Mark of Cain, still a raw and angry red, was on his right forearm. The fucker was irritating as all hell, too. Dean scratched it, absent-mindedly.

The picture on the TV started to get fuzzy. Dean sighed and scooted off the bed, bottle still in hand, and wandered over to the set. "Cheap-ass motel room…" he muttered as he adjusted the bunny ears and banged on the side of the TV. Dean nodded at his handy work as the picture righted itself.

"Hello Dean," came the familiar, gravelly voice accompanied by beating wings, causing Dean to jump. Castiel was standing right behind him, very much in his personal bubble. He turned to face the angel, almost bumping noses with him. His jaw dropped at the site of his best friend; it took him several seconds to get his shock under control and actually speak.

"Cas..."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," said the newly-minted angel awkwardly, taking a few steps back.

"No that's not..." Dean tapered off, coughing nervously. He turned away from the angel, rubbing the back of his neck. He couldn't understand his sudden onset of discomfort with being around Cas. For a fleeting second he felt the need to be anywhere but here, right now.

The hunter wandered over to his bed and settled back down, trying to look at anything but his sudden visitor. Cas, on the other hand, kept right on staring with that fucking haunting look of his that always made Dean's breath catch. The angel's heart ached at what he saw: his friend exhausted and beaten down, unshaven, unhealthy. Even his eyes, usually such a bright green and full of spark, seemed dulled and bloodshot by drink and depression, with dark circles underneath. Cas momentarily shifted his dark blue gaze from Dean, to study the state of the small room. It smelled heavily of alcohol and sweat, with beer cans littering the sink and dirty clothes in a pile on the floor. When he turned back to Dean, he had a pained look on his face. Dean saw the look, and took another swig from the whiskey bottle; the last thing he wanted was Cas' fucking pity.

"So what brings you around tonight, Cas? The exciting nightlife? Buzzing metropolis? Exotic women?"

Castiel tipped his head sideways, his trademark quizzical look. "Why would any of that interest me?" Despite all his time with the Winchesters, Cas still missed sarcasm.

"Why are you here, Cas?"

The angel rolled his eyes (a very human action that Dean had noticed he'd picked up), as though the answer was obvious. "To bring you home, of course."

Dean cleared his throat, awkwardly. He hadn't expected Cas to say that and he wasn't sure how it made it him feel. Actually he _was_ aware of how it was making him feel but he wasn't sure how he _felt about_ the way it was making him feel; the combination of booze and heat was making his head fuzzy. He suddenly felt the need to look at anything _but_ Castiel.

"Well, Cas..." Dean suddenly felt like he was trying to explain to a child why their mom and dad couldn't live together anymore. "I don't think that's a good idea right now."

"Why not?"

Without thinking, Dean flipped open his cell phone and closed it again, a habit he'd gotten into recently in the hopes of finding a text from Sam. The gesture did not go unnoticed.

"It will get better Dean. He'll forgive you. He always does, just as you have always forgiven him."

Dean shook his head, still not meeting Cas' stare. "Not this time, Cas. I screwed up, big time. You don't even know the half of it." He held out his right arm to show Cas his new mark, turning away in shame. "I told you already, I'm fucking poison. Now I got the mark to prove it."

Castiel knew right away what the mark was. He came and settled on the bed, near Dean's feet, and listened as Dean explained the last few days to him. How he had teamed up with Crowley (talk about tables turning) to destroy Abaddon, how he needed this special blade to do it and how he needed to take the power from Cain in order to wield this weapon, hence the burn. The angel's face softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Dean...I took in the souls of every monster in purgatory because I thought it would help me defeat Raphael, and look how that turned out. As I told you before, I understand why you did what you did. Your intentions, as always, were good."

"Yeah, but now Kevin's dead. And poor Sammy- " Dean stopped suddenly, and turned away, blinking furiously. Fucking keep it together, Dean.

"And how many died because of my good intentions? Yes, our actions have consequences, but Dean you can't predict the future. People got hurt and that's a terrible thing, but you've got to stop this. Nobody punishes you more than you punish yourself," Cas finished. Dean, remembering Crowley's similar statement, chuckled though his face was still grim.

"Haven't you learned by now that I'm a lost cause? You should go back to Sam."

"I have never, and will never think that of you. And Sam is fine; he's healing nicely. I'd like to stay and keep you company, if you don't mind."

"Psh, I got all the company I need right here," Dean responded, patting the bottle next to him. He took another long pull. He was _definitely_ getting a great buzz.

"I don't think alcohol could be considered good company, and getting drunk by yourself could hardly be considered a good idea."

"Well hell, Cas, there's an easy solution to that: have a drink with me!" Dean thrust the bottle towards Cas, who eyed it suspiciously. He had never had pleasant experiences with alcohol.

"No, thank you."

"Well then what do _you_ propose we do?" Dean was starting to have a hard time focusing, and fuck was it hot in this room. Maybe he should've foregone the whiskey...

"Why not just sit here quietly? I always find that enjoyable. Or we could talk some more," Cas added quickly, after Dean pulled a face.

Dean pondered this for a minute; his thoughts were a little jumbled right now considering the amount of booze in his system. A movement from Cas deflected his attention, as he noticed the angel flexing his shoulders, like his muscles were sore or something. Dean had never known angels to experience muscle aches.

"What're you doing? You hurt your back?"

"Hmm? No, it's my wings...or rather my new wings. I lost my wings when Metatron took my grace and I became human. But since I took my brother's grace they have grown back, so I'm just getting used to the weight again.

"So you can actually feel them?" Cas nodded, still shifting his shoulders. This surprised Dean. Since all he ever saw of angel wings were their shadows, he'd just assumed they were simply that, shadows. After four years, he couldn't believe he'd never asked before.

"What do your wings really look like?"

Cas stared at him, like he didn't understand the question. "I mean…I know I've kind of seen 'em like when we first met and there was that flash of lightning and you did that whole 'I'm a badass angel of the Lord' thing, but what do they _really_ look like?" Cas was giving Dean a strange look – he looked self-conscious.

Cas looked away and didn't respond for so long, Dean thought he wasn't going to answer. "Angels' wings are a very personal part of them; we rarely reveal them."

"Oh," Dean looked away, feeling scolded. So much for conversation; he had already managed to put his fucking foot in his mouth. Cas stood and started to walk away. Dean jumped off the bed, walking towards him, his bottle of whiskey forgotten. "Hey man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- "

Cas abruptly turned to face him, brushing his hand across Dean's face. Dean blinked stupidly for a moment then saw a dark shape unfolding itself behind Cas' back. His jaw dropped as the angel's two great wings unfurled. It was truly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. In the room's poor lighting he could make out that Cas' wings were a rich dark brown, matching his hair color. They were also fucking _huge_. The wingspan had to be almost twenty feet, though they didn't seem to be completely spread out. The tiny motel room could barely contain them; almost touching the ceiling, they reached the walls and spilled down the sides like glossy curtains. Dean was speechless. The fact that Cas was revealing such a pure and private part of himself to Dean was more than his alcohol-addled brain could take in at the moment. Dean was far from pure, but the fact that time and time again Cas so easily brushed aside all of his faults made his stomach flip in a very pleasant way.

"Holy shit," was all Dean could say.

"You could say that," Cas said, the corners of his mouth turning up at Dean's always-eloquent choice of words.

A curious look came across Dean's face. "Wait, I thought angels' wings were white?" Cas took a few steps towards Dean, his wings brushing against the walls. Dean expected them to knock over pictures and lamps, but amazingly the wings brushed by these items without so much as leaving a mark in the dust - must be all that fancy new angel mojo.

"Yes, humans always seem to picture us that way," he smiled. "Actually in my true form they are made of light and energy; however, when an angel takes a vessel, the wings take up the pigmentation of the vessel's features. Because Jimmy had dark brown hair, my wings appear as the same color."

"Ha, well I wonder what color Anna's wings would've been, as the carpet definitely didn't match the drapes," Dean laughed. Cas looked confused as he gazed around the motel room.

"Actually the curtains are the exact same color as the carpet, Dean."

Again, sarcasm. Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, never mind. Lesson for another day." He took a few steps towards Cas, his hand outstretched. "Can I…can I touch them?" Cas looked uncertain.

"Well I - " but Dean didn't wait for permission, the alcohol making him bold. He ran his hand along the spine of one wing, feeling the strength of the muscles as they flexed and shifted beneath the sleek feathers. The feathers were glossy and refreshingly cool to the touch, like the unused side of a pillow. One thing Dean found fascinating about the wings was that they moved and twitched constantly, independent of each other, reminding him of a cat's tail. He walked the length of one wing, running his calloused hands over its entirety with childlike wonder. Dean sometimes forgot that Cas was an angel, but the sight of the wings brought back the realization that the man standing before him was definitely _not_ a man at all.

"Dude, these things are…_awesome_." When Cas didn't say anything, Dean glanced at the angel and was surprised to see him staring at Dean and smiling, almost with something like pride on his face.

"Dean, do you know what's interesting about an angel's wings?" Again with that electric blue stare.

Dean coughed and quickly turned back to admiring the wings. "Um, what _isn't_ interesting about angel wings?"

"Angels embody all that is goodness and purity and love; therefore, my wings, my true form, can only be touched by those who are just and truly good." Dean turned to Castiel, squinting his eyes in confusion, the alcohol making him slow.

"Wait...what?"

The angel sighed and stepped towards Dean, his magnificent wings shifting. "It's what I have been trying to tell you all along: Dean, you _are_ a good person."

Dean stared his friend, his mouth forming an "o." That was the thing about Cas: no matter how deeply Dean buried his feelings, Cas always succeeded in unearthing them, turning them over like stones and knowing all that was hiding underneath. Dean's thoughts were racing, a cold sweat breaking out across his body, despite the room's sweltering heat. There it was again, this feeling that Cas always managed to stir up within Dean. A while ago, Dean had noticed this feeling, this tugging at the back of his mind, when it came to Cas. He had actually first noticed it on the night he took Cas to the brothel; then, he simply brushed it aside, chalking it up to a warped sense of brotherly love for the guy. After all, he loved women, had a fucking track record (literally) to prove it. But then, right after Cas disappeared into that lake, the feeling came back tenfold. It was during this dark period that Dean started to acknowledge the feeling, but even still, Dean avoided having that conversation with himself. It wasn't until Dean was trapped in Purgatory and desperately looking for the angel day and night, did he reassess the feeling and come to terms with it's meaning. Now here it was again not just tugging, but damn near shoving aside all other thoughts, barging its way to the forefront of Dean's conscience so that it was the only fucking thing he could focus on at the moment. And the way Castiel was looking at him, with his head cocked to the side like that...

Get your shit together, man, don't do anything stupid...

Unfortunately, Dean was a "shoot first, ask later" kind of guy. And unfortunately, at this moment, Dean was pretty fucking drunk. He stumbled towards Cas, his balance thrown off by his increased blood-alcohol content. He was so close to the angel now that they were inches apart. His palms felt damp and he could feel beads of sweat gathering on the small of his back. God it was so fucking hot in this room (how was Cas still wearing that damn coat?). He hesitated, nervously licking his lips; he wasn't sure if this was ok, but Cas wasn't moving away.

"Cas?" His voice was low and husky. It was meant as a question, though Dean wasn't sure what the question was. The hunter was just getting ready to dive head first into the great unknown, but Cas suddenly disappeared with a rustling of wings and a (pleasantly) cool breeze.

Oh fuck.

* * *

I did a mean thing. To be continued, I promise...

Sidenote: Castiel's wing lore is totally made up for the purpose of the plot.


	2. Benches

So sorry this took forever to update. I caught a bit of writer's block, and so I started another story to help clear my head (which helped!). So downside, this took awhile to update. Upside, I've got another SPN story halfway done! I don't think I mentioned it in the first chapter, but this story deviates a bit from season 9, but only slightly. So onward...

* * *

When Castiel's feet came in contact with the ground again, he found himself in a park in the late afternoon. It was chilly, but the sun was out and there were a decent amount of people out and about. He wandered over to the playground and sat down on one of the benches, and took in the happy sights and sounds going on around him: children playing while their parents kept watch, people jogging with their dogs, couples walking hand in hand. This had been one of his favorite pastimes, just watching humanity. Uriel never had the patience for it, but then again Uriel never appreciated humans the way Cas did. He saw the human race as lower life forms, not worthy of the angels' time. Castiel, on the other hand, marveled at them. Humans were messy, loud, irrational, emotional, unpredictable...and Cas loved it all.

The one thing about humans that Cas loved the most was their family dynamic and how powerful these familial bonds were. How, all for the sake of family, these creatures would abandon all common sense, all rational instinct. He saw it over and over again with the Winchesters. He envied Sam and Dean, really. He wanted..._family_. Yes, he had family in Heaven, but it wasn't family in the true sense of the word, as Cas had come to know. Family loved you unconditionally, protected you, accepted your flaws, pushed you to try harder, dropped everything to come to your aid no matter the consequences. The angels weren't family; Cas knew that now. They didn't have the emotional capabilities. They didn't have (or weren't allowed to have) wants or needs, other than to follow orders. Cas used to be that way until the Winchesters...until _Dean_. Now, Castiel knew better, and because he knew better he wanted..._needed_ more.

He glanced over at the bench across from him, and saw a young couple sitting there, bundled up against the cold. They each had a cup of coffee and were splitting some sort of baked good. Cas smiled.

Humans and their sweets...

The thought of sweets and baked goods made him think of pie, which of course brought Dean to mind, and the thought of Dean caused a warm stirring in his stomach. Cas looked down at himself and frowned. He was not exactly new to emotions, but that didn't mean that they didn't still confuse him. He recognized this sensation, though. He always got it when he thought about Dean, however, it wasn't until he had been human, and felt it with April (ok, bad example) and Nora, that he finally understood what it meant. But it was different with Dean. It was always different when it came to Dean; it always left him a little lightheaded, with a strong feeling of longing.

Castiel's thoughts were interrupted by loud laughter. He looked back to the couple on the bench. The woman was pointing and laughing at the man, he had something on his upper lip – foam from his coffee. They were very happy together. Cas thought back to the last time he felt truly happy; he had been with Dean. Actually, all his happiest memories involved the elder Winchester in one way or another. Dean always brought out the most pleasant feelings in Cas, like the oddly pleasant stirring in his stomach. He had felt it in the motel room this morning, but then it was a little different. The feeling was stronger, and there was a new sensation that came with it. A heat, that flooded his entire being, and intense urges. Like the urge to grab Dean and press their mouths together, to kiss him like he and April had kissed. Like the urge to do things, with Dean, that he and April had done (minus the part where she stabbed him, of course).

The couple glanced up and noticed Cas staring at him. He quickly turned away, feeling self-conscious. He didn't mean to stare or, as Dean would call it, "be creepy." He absentmindedly picked at the hem of his trench coat. That was one emotion Cas did not enjoy: self-consciousness. Emotions like that, and embarrassment - like when he realized Nora only wanted a baby-sitter, not a date – were his least favorite things about being human, other than the obligation of going to the bathroom and brushing his teeth and at least the latter two went away when he got his grace back. The emotions didn't, though; becoming human had only made them worse. Back when he and the Winchesters were fighting the apocalypse, he had opened himself to emotion. Now he couldn't stop feeling _everything_. It was becoming a problem.

Case in point:

Self-consciousness was the reason he disappeared on Dean earlier this morning, back at the motel. He knew what Dean was about to do; he remembered the show with the pizza deliveryman. It was just that Cas wasn't sure what to do. Well..._he knew what to do_, hell he'd done it before, but this was _Dean_. He definitely knew what he _wanted_ to do and, judging by the way Dean's body was reacting (he had perceived an increase in heart rate and body temperature, among other things), Cas was fairly certain that Dean wanted the same thing. And yet...his relationship with the hunter was already so complicated, plus now he was an angel again. But he also truly cared about Dean, more than anyone or anything. Cas cared about Sam, of course, but this was different. Dean made him feel grounded, had given him a connection to something, had given him something solid to put his back against. Despite everything Castiel had done, Dean had forgiven him when everyone else wanted to crucify him. And, most of all, _Dean was home_. Since Metatron closed down the gates of Heaven, Cas felt homeless...except when he was with Dean.

From beneath his dark lashes, Castiel stole a glance at the couple. They had gotten up and were heading towards the park's entrance, walking hand in hand.

Heading home...

The angel suddenly felt his mind become very clear; he wanted more. He wanted what that couple had. He wanted another person to share these happy feelings with. He wanted to sit on a park bench with someone, sip coffee, and watch the world go by. He wanted that someone to be Dean.

And Castiel felt it was time he got what he wanted.

* * *

Yes, that wasn't as long as the first chapter. Fortunately the next installment has already been started, and hopefully it won't take me ages to get it posted this time. Thanks for those of you who are sticking with the story; don't give up on me, I PROMISE I won't abandon this! As always, feedback is appreciated.


	3. Walls

**At last, another update! Thank you to those who have stuck with this story. I would've gotten this up sooner, but the Doc Manager decided to be annoying and not let me upload anything for a few days. (It also doesn't help that I'm a major perfectionist). But ch. 4 is halfway done and I've also been working on another SPN fic whose first part i just published right before this chapter, so if you like this story then go check out my profile page to see my other SPN work-in-progress.**

**Sidenote: After watching 9x18, I learned that Cas does not have his wings. I'd been under the impression he still had them, though I guess that makes sense seeing as he's running on borrowed Grace and all. Anyway, for the sake of my story let's pretend he does have wings, ok? Ok.**

* * *

The rustling of angel wings caused Sam to turn his attention away from the bowl of cereal he had been nursing. It had been about a week since Cas had extracted what was left of Gadreel's grace, and though they had been doing daily rounds of healing, he was almost one hundred percent back to normal. He was sleeping a lot, though, and still working on getting his appetite back. Cas had advised he take it easy, so he'd been going through the Bunker's enormous library, hoping that the Men of Letters had some handy information on possibly reversing the "no vacancy" sign on Heaven's doors. So far he'd come up with squat.

"'Sup, Cas?" Sam asked, tossing the greeting over his shoulder. When he didn't get a response, he turned to face the angel. He frowned when he saw the odd expression on the angel's face. Cas looked lost in thought, like he wasn't even aware he was back at the Bunker.

"Hello, Cas? Earth to Cas," Sam called, waving his hand at the angel.

Cas seemed to realize where he was and instantly the strained look on his face was gone. He turned to Sam, trying to give his best impression of being relaxed (it still looked like he had a two-by-four for a spine).

"What's with you, man?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

"Alright," Sam shrugged. Better every day." He pushed himself back from the table, the chair scraping harshly against the linoleum floor. He leaned against the sink and dumped the contents of his bowl down the drain.

"Where were you?"

Cas' eyes flitted away for a second before focusing back on the taller Winchester before him. He wouldn't quite meet Sam's eye, though. "I went to find Dean."

Sam didn't respond for a minute and instead, turned back to the sink on and proceeded to clean his dishes.

"Yeah?" he finally asked.

Several seconds of silence, then – "Yes. He's not far from here, a day's drive maybe."

No answer.

"Maybe, if we called him-" Cas was cut off by the sound of the cereal bowl clattering against the sink. Sam turned around to face Cas.

"_No, Cas._ We had this conversation, already. Dean wants to be on his own, then fine. I'm not stopping him. " Sam ran a damp hand through his long locks, wetting the strands. "You want to go and visit him? Fine. He decides he wants to come back? _Fine._ But I'm not going to chase after him and tell him it's all good and that I want him to come back, because right now _I don't care_."

Cas took a step towards Sam, his eyes pleading. "Sam, I know you're angry. _But he_ _made a mistake_. We've all made mistakes, here. It's in the past, Sam; you have to put it behind you and move on. We have bigger problems facing us. We need your brother on this."

"No _we_ don't. Maybe you do, but I don't. And besides..." Sam took a breath, "he stopped being my brother the second he _manipulated _me into letting a freaking angel possess me!"

Cas just stood there, his face unreadable.

"I'm sorry, Cas, but that whole 'we're family' crap isn't going to work on me...not this time."

Sam pushed away from the sink and strode past Castiel, out of the kitchen. Grabbing some books from the library, he went to his room, slamming the door behind him. He tried to focus on the pages, but couldn't. He tossed the book aside and rubbed his temples; he could feel a headache coming on. He knew he was being unfair to Castiel. He was only trying to help, but still... Sam couldn't help but be a little annoyed with the guy, too. No matter what Dean did, Cas was always there, ready to forgive and move past it. And Sam usually could too, except this time. This time was different; Dean had pretty much violated him...well...let some psycho angel violate him. Whatever. That was a whole new level of trust-breaking, even for them, and what was so frustrating was that Dean just didn't get what the damn problem was. He just saw it as him 'doing what was best for Sammy' when, in reality, it was Dean doing what was best for himself.

What really pissed Sam off, was that deep down he _knew_ that he and Dean were better as a team. In the past, whenever the brothers had tried to go their separate ways shit went wrong and they always wound up back together again. And now, in order to bring down Metatron and Abaddon, they needed all hands on deck. But Sam also knew that their relationship was less than healthy, and more than a little codependent (though he felt it was more on Dean's part, than his own).

If Dean wanted to come back and work together, that was his choice, just like it was his choice to leave. But Sam sure as hell wasn't about to call him and ask him to.

* * *

On the bright side, Dean was no longer sleeping in a motel.

He and Sam were now on speaking terms (kind of), since the incident with Garth and the werewolves, and Dean had moved back into the Bunker. When he got back, the first thing he did was take a long nap on _his_ excrement-free, comfortable, memory foam mattress (it still remembered him). Then, he cleaned himself up. He took one of the longest showers he could remember (at one point, Sam even came into the bathroom and yelled at him to stop using up all the goddamn hot water; Dean stayed in for another ten minutes). He kept the facial hair but trimmed it back a bit; he was actually kinda liking it. Finally, he reorganized and cleaned his room, put fresh sheets on the bed, and washed and put away his clothes.

Several days went by, since "the thing which shall not be named," with no word from Cas. He had been M.I.A. since Dean came back, which was irritating as fuck since _he_ was the one who asked him to come back in the first place. Sam had made an offhand comment about this, but Dean remained silent. Of course he hadn't told Sam about his encounter with Cas; that would involve discussing feelings and lead to Sam asking some awkward questions that Dean was so not ready to answer yet. But after a week of being back and still no word from the angel, Dean was approaching full-blown panic mode. He became moodier than the norm and that, combined with the fact that he and Sam were barely speaking to each other, meant that conversations consisted mostly of grunting.

This made shit worse, as it meant that Dean was left alone with his thoughts and fuck if they all weren't about _that night_. That drunken, awkward night that got him hard just thinking about how close he'd come to kissing his best friend...Dean shook his head trying to get rid of the memory. Besides, Cas' lack of reaction was enough to tell him it wasn't going to happen again. Hell, any kind of reaction would've been better than the guy just "poofing" his feathery ass out of there just as Dean had finally gotten the balls to make a move. But seriously, what the hell did he expect? He had been crazy to think…_to hope_…that Cas would feel something of what Dean was feeling. Cas was a freaking angel, a celestial being whose battery pack ran on _Grace_ for God's sake. And Dean...Dean couldn't be more opposite. He was a first-class fuck up with abandonment issues, who ran on booze and self-loathing. It was for the best though. Really. He didn't need to deal with the whole having the hots for your best friend (God, could he sound any more fucking cliché?) in the middle of all the other crap he had going on.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, trying hard to focus on the task at hand. He was sitting on the floor of his room, back against his bed, with a beer in hand and gun parts spread all around him. Cleaning his gear always helped Dean get his mind off things and, in this case, it was "the thing that shall not be named_._" He was feeling wound up like all hell, and was trying desperately to just relax and chill the fuck out.

And of course, because life just hated him like that, that was _not_ going to happen for him tonight.

"Dean." The silence of the bedroom was broken by Castiel's deep, rough voice right behind Dean, causing him to drop the part he was cleaning. He glared up at Cas, from his position on the floor.

"Jesus, Cas! We need to get you a goddamn bell or something!"

Puzzled look. "Why would I need a bell?"

"Aw...just...nevermind. So, um, what's up?" Dean tried to keep his tone light, but it went up an octave, betraying his casual demeanor.

"I would like to discuss what happened last week in your motel room."

Typical Cas, straight to the fucking point. He downed the rest of his beer, feeling the need for some liquid courage. Using the edge of the bed, Dean hoisted himself up, grimacing as his knees cracked. He felt the need to be able to make a quick exit, if needed.

"Were you going to kiss me, Dean?"

Just like that, Dean began to panic. Cas wanted to talk about "the thing that shall not be named" and feelings and all that crap...very scary territory for Dean Winchester. So he did what he always did when these kinds of situations came up, he deflected.

"Ya'know, I don't really remember what happened that night. So what have you been up to? Haven't seen much of you, lately," he casually remarked, fiddling with a gun part.

"So you don't remember trying to kiss me?"

Dean sighed. Like a goddamn dog with a bone.

"Dude, like I said, I don't remember much. As you recall, I was pretty fucked up."

Dean tried to force out a laugh, but it died in his throat and came out more as a whimper when he glanced up and saw the look on Cas' face. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling stupid. The angel's eyes were dark and narrowed, his lips pursed tightly. A muscle along his jaw twitched, and Dean had drag his eyes away and force himself to _not_ think about kissing Cas' jaw. Or licking his neck, right in that exposed spot where Cas now left the top button undone. Or picturing his trench coat on the floor of Dean's room...

"Dean!"

"What? Sorry," he shook his head, trying to refocus.

"I asked you a question and I'd like a straight answer." The tone in Cas' voice indicated he was in no mood to fuck around.

"_What?_ What was the damn question?!"

_"How do you see me, Dean?"_

"Wha-? Well right now I see you as a pain in the ass!"

Dean turned away from Cas, who grabbed him by the elbow and whipped him back around so that they were face to face. Cas glared at Dean, his nostrils flaring slightly.

"That's not what I meant, Dean!"

"Look man, I don't know what the hell you want me to say! I told you, I was fucking hammered that night and don't remember anything. So _lay off_!"

Dean couldn't look at the angel. He was flat out lying to him and he felt like a shit for doing it, but he really couldn't handle this right now. It was too much: Metatron, Abaddon, the Mark... He had too much on his fucking plate without having to have _that conversation_ with Cas. Fuck, he didn't even want to have it with himself. He needed to figure out how to handle it first, before bringing Cas into the mix.

"When will you stop making excuses, Dean?" Cas sighed, rolling his eyes.

"_I'm not!_ Look, _you_ wanted me to come back, so I came back! Me and Sammy are working together again. What _more_ do you want?" The hunter cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I want you to be _honest_ with me, Dean!" Cas reached out, grabbed Dean's wrist and yanked his shirtsleeve up to reveal the ugly red burn on his forearm. "I want you to be honest about what's going on with you!" he exclaimed, pointing at the Mark. Then, more quietly, "I don't know why you feel you always have to hide from me. It's _me_ Dean..._Castiel._ I know you better than I think you know yourself." He placed the palm of his hand against Dean's chest, over his heart. "I know you _want_ to be happy, Dean. But for whatever reason, you don't think you _deserve_ to be."

Dean stared at Cas, his lower lip trembling. He didn't know what to say. The last thing he wanted was to push Cas away, but he couldn't do this, not right now. Maybe not ever, considering the way things were headed. He was doomed, and he didn't want to drag Cas down with him.

"Cas, you should know by now that people's life spans tend to get a bit shorter when they're around me."

Cas shook his head and yanked his hand away from Dean's chest, leaving a cold emptiness in its place. He took a few steps back, though to Dean it felt like a mile. The angel was silent for a minute. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and quiet.

"You're a stupid son of a bitch, Dean Winchester."

He was gone with a flurry of wings, leaving Dean standing there with his mouth hanging open and feeling like a complete jackass. _Again_.

* * *

**Ugh, I'm such a brat, I know.**


End file.
